


senses

by tentaclemonster



Category: Warlocked (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble Sequence, F/M, Imprisonment, the five senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21891520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentaclemonster/pseuds/tentaclemonster
Summary: Zog greeted Azarel, as he always did, with hands gripping at her skin.
Relationships: Chief Zog/Queen Azarel
Kudos: 3





	senses

**Sight.**

The narrow halls of Zog’s keep seemed to close in on Azarel as she walked along them, a pair of goblin guards at her back. The obsidian stone walls were jaggedly carved, the sight of them black and fathomless. The shadows that permeated through the hall were only offset by the occasional sconce in the wall giving off the barest flicker of fire light.

It was impossible to tell whether the walls did, in fact, move closer to her as she walked.

It was believable that they could, that even the walls here would take joy in her torment.

**Smell.**

Brimstone and ash clung inside of Azarel’s nostrils, scents that lingered and refused to let go, but the smell lessened the further into the keep she went. Azarel was almost thankful for that, such a small thing to be thankful for that it was, that Zog preferred to keep his own quarters lower in the ground and therefore farther away from the scent of the dragon that twisted around the top most part of his keep and breathed its acrid fire into the air as if it needed to do so to survive.

She hated herself for that thankfulness.

**Sound.**

Her footsteps were the loudest sound in the hall. Her guards didn't talk to her – _would_ not talk to her, even when she became so desperate for some kind of companionship other than Zog’s that she tried to talk to them. Azarel was certain that Zog had ordered them to keep their silence. She thought he took pleasure in being the only voice she was allowed to hear.

Eventually, she came to a stop in front of a door that was now disquietingly familiar to her. Her guards stopped behind her.

Azarel took a deep breath and knocked.

**T ouch.**

Zog greeted Azarel, as he always did, with hands gripping at her skin.

Azarel kept still and submitted to it.

She had fought him at first, she could do nothing less, until Zog taught her there were worse things that could be done to her, that there were creatures in his keep who would treat her more roughly than he did.

Azarel learned the lesson. She now stood still and allowed Zog to do as he wanted with her – to run his rough hands along her body, to dig his claws in, to pull her hair back hard.

**T aste.**

Zog’s mouth should taste disgusting. It should taste like rancid meat and the brimstone scent that gathered at the back of her throat the higher in the keep she rose.

When he forced his mouth on hers and slid his tongue between her lips, it shouldn’t taste like the kiss of any other man. When he forced her down into his bed and made her taste him in turn, his skin shouldn’t taste the same as the bodies of men she’d lain with willingly, like salt and sweat and skin.

But it does.

He does.

That’s the worst part.


End file.
